


The Cycle

by JessieMay



Series: See Me [2]
Category: Dragon Ball, Dragon Ball Z
Genre: Dark, Dubious Consent, M/M, underage voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-05-14 19:32:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5755537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JessieMay/pseuds/JessieMay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Sequel to The Moaning </b><br/> <br/>Trunks couldn't say exactly what it was that kept pulling him back, but he craved it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cycle

 

“Going to see your father?”

Trunks only smiled, and Bulma beamed warmly.

She would have come along in a heartbeat, Trunks knew. But it wasn’t her world. She’d long accepted this universe, though it may not have been much. It was a long hard struggle getting to where they were now, and she was the mind behind any progress they’d made. She couldn’t leave it now, not when there was so much more to be done. The struggle was constant and grueling but it kept her busy and it kept her alive. Looking back for her was only a distraction, and a dangerous one in a world where your only options were to keep moving forward or die.

She didn’t usually say much to him before he departed and even less when he returned, but now she called after him as the glass dome-top of the time machine lifted. Trunks turned just in time to catch the capsule she’d tossed. The label read 'Dehydrated Meat.' His savior. It lasted long in a ruined world and kept him feeling full for many long nights on watch.

He raised it in thanks and swung his legs into the cockpit.

 

 

 

It had been several years since The Cell Games when Gohan had saved the world and Goku had sacrificed himself. Still, the effects of that time were ever present in Trunks’ life even now.

The alternate dimension was alternate in every way. He’d been successful beyond anything he could have hoped for when he’d first set out to warn Goku of the Adroids. It was now a peaceful time, a beautiful time. Trunks tried not to covet it. He felt content in his life and told himself that a quiet, peaceful world was not for him. Still, there was something this dimension had that his never would, and it was what kept pulling him back.

He couldn't explain exactly what it was, but he craved it.

 

 

 

 

It was a few hours past nightfall as Trunks climbed into an upper-story window at Capsule Corporation. The Bulma of this world was away on business and the bed in the master bedroom had a single occupant.

Trunks slid into the sheets next to him.

The man was already dreaming, skin damp and fingers curling in the sheets. It seemed the foreplay had already begun. The scene wouldn’t go much further unless Trunks encouraged it, and the younger Saiyan knew the man’s body well.

He was gentle at first, allowing Vegeta’s dream to guide him, sliding his hands between firm thighs only when the man parted them on his own. Soon, his hunger and the long months since their last meeting got the better of him, and Trunks guided his bare hips forward in a slow but sure thrust.

Vegeta woke with Trunks’ cock filling him to the hilt. The half-Saiyan didn’t take it out

It was a few months since his last visit and Vegeta’s hole was tight and twitching from shock and disuse, yet still accommodating , stretching so deliciously around him.

Trunks leaned on his elbow so he could see the startled man’s face, eyes blown wide and mouth hanging open. Then he flexed his cock, letting the girth swell for an instant inside Vegeta and making the other Saiyan gasp and rouse.

Vegeta began alternatively trying to push Trunks back and crawl off of the stiff appendage impaling him. Trunks let him struggle a moment longer before rolling them so he was on top and flattening Vegeta between his pelvis and the mattress, forcing the slighter man to accommodate the full mass of Trunks’ cock.

Trunks almost came as Vegeta’s continued struggling vainly beneath him, his hole fluttering involuntarily. He didn’t come close to knocking Trunks off but every twist of his hips and attempt to buck him off made his firm cheeks clench around him so sweetly and his silky inner walls stroke him beautifully.

It must have been too much for Vegeta too because Trunks soon felt the tell-tale spasms around his cock and heard Vegeta’s enraged grunts break off suddenly into deep, breathy moans.

“Has it been that long,” Trunks crooned as Vegeta, breathing deeply, slowly came down from his orgasm.

Vegeta came once more like that and Trunks followed after, rutting the older man hard into the mattress. He then sat them up on their knees, bracing Vegeta’s back to his chest.

The older Saiyan’s pecks bounced like tits as Trunks pumped his hips up into him with the power only a Super Saiyan possessed and only a Super Saiyan could take. There was a thrill in the way all the defiance melted from Vegeta’s face and body. His eyes glazed and he looked driven mad by every stab of Trunks cock. And it was like _stabbing_. He was killing his father with every thrust, and killing himself as well. By the end of it the thrill was always gone.  Still, until then, Trunks was determined to get all he could from the man.

Trunks couldn’t go slow with his father; the man would fight. Taking him like this was the only way, treating him like a whore.  Not that Trunks had any experience with that. Somehow, the dynamic came naturally with his father though. The older man knew how to bring it out in him.

In the end, Trunks couldn’t help his sordid treatment of his father any more than Vegeta could help his body’s reactions to it.

Holding Vegeta upright to his chest, Trunks admired the flush that was home on his father's face, and was suddenly taken with an urge to kiss the man. With one hand, he craned the raven head back and angled it to his lips.

“Trunks, you—you can’t.”

Trunks paused.

It was only ever the begging when Trunks went to kiss him. Getting fucked by his own son was fine, but _kissing._  That’s where Vegeta drew the line.

“Why can’t I father? Tell me why,” he pressed the delirious man, hips rocking slow and deep.

A hoarse groan reverberated deep in Vegeta’s throat.

 _Because I’m your father_ , Trunks implored him to say. _Because I’m your father and you are my son!_

Trunks stroked his father’s throat as if to coax the answer out.

At times like this, Trunks felt like he was the teacher and his father a naïve young boy in need of guidance. He would show his father how to love, how to be a good father…even if he had to do it by showing him what not to be.

When it was clear that Vegeta wasn’t going to answer, Trunks snarled and twisted his head back by the jaw, mashing their lips together in a violent, punishing kiss. He dug in his teeth into the gently protesting mouth where they only surrendered, and pried Vegeta’s jaw open further with his fingers, though the man didn’t even attempt to clamp down. 

“Fucked up, so fucked up…” Trunks was hissing as he dragged his mouth away, his own lips sore and throbbing.

He felt warm moisture on his cheeks and thought for a moment that Vegeta’s tears had smeared onto him. Tears for the kiss, he guessed. Tears for the roughness with which Trunks was handling him. Tears for their relationship that would never emerge from this dank, sordid abyss from which it had been plunged.

Upon inspection of Vegeta’s flushed, kiss-swollen, yet otherwise dry face, Trunks realized that it was _he_ who was crying.

He didn’t wipe the tears away but wore them as he continued rocking into his father.

The man was beginning to fight again. Vegeta always resisted hardest when Trunks dropped his course facade and began handling him affectionately. It took debasing the royal Saiyan and dragging him through the mud to get him to submit. It had been hard for Trunks at first; it hurt him talking to his father that way and shoving the older Saiyan around like a stubborn child. Then, as he learned it was the only way to get Vegeta’s attention, it got easier. It never stopped hurting though.

“You don’t want my kisses,” Trunks whispered, tightening his hold as Vegeta began twisting and snarling.  “Just my cock, huh father?” He grabbed a fist-full of Vegeta’s hair and shoved his head down into the mattress, bending the slighter man forward and holding him there. “Fine.”

As Trunks had expected, when he drove his hips hard, fully seating his cock within Vegeta, the older Saiyan’s curses and struggles subsided, and he took Trunks’ brutal pace like a well-trained whore.

Trunks was trying hard to distance himself, to fuck his father with cold detachment so he could go home and be free of these awful needs for a while. His focus kept getting pulled down, however, to the tragic display of submission beneath him. He didn’t need to pin Vegeta anymore, the man was a ravaged doll, flattened and limp aside from his hips, which were tilted just so to take Trunks’ thrusts straight to his gut. His face was turned so Trunks could see the lax mouth and clearly hear the breathy, unmuffled sounds. He was torn between the urge to smother those sounds with his own mouth and somehow fuck the man harder to elicit more from him. He did the latter, knowing another kiss would do nothing for him.

Trunks invigorated the already brutal pace until he heard the choked cry and felt the erratic clenching around his cock, signifying his father’s orgasm. Trunks didn’t need to hold himself back anymore.

The younger Saiyan pursued the spike of his nerves and the tightening in his core and let it overtake him. He was at the cusp of another cold orgasm, but was interrupted by a ragged voice beneath him.

“Trunks,“ Vegeta choked out. “Trunks--My…m-My son!”

 The cry sent an alarming surge of pleasure through Trunks’ body, merging with what was already building within him, and his eyes began to roll.

“Yes,” he sighed, head falling back. “Yes, father.” He didn’t remember Vegeta ever calling out to him like that, even in rapture, and it was the most beautiful thing Trunks thought he would ever hear. Overwhelmed by what sounded like endearment, the half-Saiyan thought he might cry again. Instead, he came deep inside his father’s trembling channel.

Although it was his second orgasm, it was powerful, and he collapsed onto Vegeta’s back, panting as the last of his fluids drained into the older Saiyan.

Vegeta squirmed and stuttered weak, breathless moans.

The man was so much further gone than three fucks normally got him. Trunks wasn’t complaining though. He was exhausted himself. His body felt depleted and aged long beyond its years. He guessed that knowing a man like his father would do that to a person.

Maybe it was time to call it a night. It didn’t look like Vegeta could take much more anyway. And that last, unexpected cry as Trunks came was so surprising and verging on affection that Trunks wanted to preserve the moment.

The half-Saiyan traced gentle wisps of kisses up the firm contours of his father’s back, even though the older man had surely passed out by now and wouldn’t notice them. Trunks found when Vegeta slept, that he was most receptive of his son’s more tender treatment.

When he reached Vegeta’s neck, he heard the near-inaudible breaths coming out swift and shallow. Trunks was just able to make out the string of words:

“No no no no no no no,” it went. It was the usual dreamy protests, but they usually faded once Vegeta had been sufficiently worn out. Confused, Trunks looked into the open, alert eyes and saw that Vegeta hadn’t fallen asleep, but was very much awake. He was staring toward the corner of the room, into the single beam of light pouring in from where the door stood slightly ajar.

Looking up, Trunks saw, standing in the heart of the narrow strip of light stretching from the door’s opening, the silhouette of a small figure. The bedroom was dark, but with the light cast in from the hallway, Trunks could see the faint, purplish glow around the child’s head and the bright, wide eyes staring straight out to where Trunks was leaning over his father on the bed.

Trunks didn’t have to do the calculation of years in his head to know who the boy was. There was a hollow silence in which the only sounds were Vegeta's desperate, broken whines.

It dawned on Trunks that what Vegeta had called out moments ago had not been the warm endearment Trunks had thought, but in fact an alert to what he was seeing.

 _Trunks, my son_ — of this world.

Trunks had no stomach to empty, no brain to think, no voice to scream. He was hollow. Void of everything but a single, reverberating thought:

He was fucking his father.

It was never more clear than now as Trunks stared into the sallow face of his child-self in the doorway.  His cock was still mostly stiff and heavy in his father’s asshole and Vegeta had come three times stretched around its solid girth. Trunks himself, had spent himself twice in his father’s gut, and the seed would remain there until the man excreted it the next day.

He’d fucked his father.

The boy stared.

No, _he_ stared. He felt for the boy as surely as if it were himself standing there in the doorway, watching this nightmare unfold, not knowing what it meant but still feeling the world shift around him as a result of it. His father—his _God_ —was being mounted by a stranger in his parents’ bed. Not only that, but he wasn’t fighting it.

The boy couldn’t possibly ever see his father the same way again. Would he be able to respect him after this? Would he understand that another man, an apparently _younger_ man, had bested the all-powerful Super Saiyan under his own roof? Would he grow and remember this night, gaining understanding with age, and resent his father for letting it happen? Or would he see his father this way, naked, weakened and submissive, beneath another warrior, and bitterly vow one day to do the same to the full-blooded Saiyan for ever daring to pose as a hero?

Had Trunks inadvertently sent this younger, alternate version of himself into a future that mirrored his own? One where deep, wanton moaning haunted his nights and a cold, dismissive father lorded over his days.  

 

 

As Trunks input the coordinates into his dashboard, he tried not to think of the boy and his empty eyes; tried not to think of Vegeta, laying there, naked in the cold light pooling in from the hallway, exposed to his son— again. How the older man must be thinking that he was trapped now, in this awful cycle.


End file.
